


Windfall

by WhiteEevee



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Bandaging, Combat, M/M, Pirate AU, Sword Fighting, deserted island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteEevee/pseuds/WhiteEevee
Summary: With the navy in close pursuit, Nezumi and Shion try to pass their last hours stranded on a deserted island with some semblance of composure. Nezumi wants Shion to be quiet and let him hate the world. Shion just wants Nezumi to let him bandage his arm.Pirate AU. Valentine's gift for Secretagentfan.
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	Windfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretagentfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/gifts).



> SAF! I hope you like this. Your prompt was fantastic and epic and I cried so hard because, as you know, you are my writing god and I wanted so badly to do this story justice and impress you.
> 
> As a result, it is 12pgs long. Oops! But I hope every line of it is to your liking.

Nezumi shouts curses into the dying sun as he watches their boat sputter and bob in the ocean’s hungry grasp. Shion drips silently into the sand beside him. They are both soaked through from the swim to shore, but Nezumi is decidedly more salty.

Just when he was beginning to think they had a chance of escaping their pursuers, their boat ran aground on a shoal of coral and it shredded her underbelly to bits. Fortunately, this had happened within swimming distance of land. Unfortunately, the land appeared to be a deserted island, and quite conspicuous to passing ships.

Once the navy officers catch up, there is no doubt that they will send a small armed convoy to investigate the area, and then he and Shion will be shipped back to Chronos and hanged side by side.

“Of course,” Nezumi spits. “Of course this would be my fate. Mutinied and then”—he kicks the sand up into a virulent cloud—“ _fucking_ _marooned_.”

Shion murmurs an apology, but it’s uncertain whether it’s meant for Nezumi or their doomed vessel. He stares at the sea, his eyes dark as the depths swallowing their only salvation.

Shion’s hands and neck are an angry red from rope burn, and Nezumi can only imagine how badly they itch from the briny water. His own shoulder throbs in time with his pounding heart. Nezumi glances at the wound. His sleeve sticks to his arm, dark and splotchy with water and blood. A few pink rivulets run down his fingers and dribble into the sand.

Shion’s careful stitching hadn’t even lasted a full day before he’d ripped it open.

But that’s Shion’s fault, not his.

Shion should have known better than to harbor a fugitive. And if he couldn’t resist being an altruist, he should have at least known enough to avoid capture by the officers the next morning. But like a fool, Shion had stayed put and got himself sent to the gallows. And like a fool, Nezumi had charged in to rescue him.

It’s terribly inconvenient to be a pirate and still have a moral code. Nezumi decides that if he ever reclaims his ship—or _a_ ship, as right now he would be happy with anything that could float—he will do away with any codes that involve helping people who could not be trusted to use common sense.

“We should get dry,” Shion says, and turns away from the sea to the sparse tree line.

Nezumi follows with a low growl. His boots are filled with water and it feels like he’s walking on sponges as he trudges across the sand.

“We’ll build a fire.”

“We will do no such thing.” Nezumi snatches at Shion’s elbow and spins him around. “The officers can’t be more than a few hours behind us. If we light a fire and signal our position, we might as well hang ourselves now.”

Shion bites his lip. His gaze falls, and he gasps, “You’re bleeding.”

“The stitches ripped.” Nezumi drops Shion’s elbow and wipes the watery mixture of blood on his pant leg. “It’s fine.”

“It needed stitches for a reason,” Shion says. His rueful demeanor fades in the face of this new purpose, and Nezumi realizes Shion isn’t going to be dissuaded. “We can’t just leave it be.”

“And what do you expect to do? Do you happen to have a needle and string in your pocket?”

Nezumi cocks an eyebrow. He barely knows Shion, but he knows enough not to be surprised if he _had_ somehow managed to smuggle out suturing supplies.

Shion is the type of person to place meaning in things that are useless to everyone else. Nezumi concerns himself only with what is essential to his own needs. He managed to salvage his pistol and daggers before their boat went down. His sword, however, had to be abandoned in their flight. Nezumi had stuck it into the chest of an officer as they pushed away from the dock, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to wrench it back out without compromising their getaway.

Shion studies Nezumi’s shoulder as he thinks. “We could try cauterizing it.”

“Again with the fire,” Nezumi scoffs. “And hell no. Stitches are one thing, but to let a novice cauterize a wound is lunacy; you could light the skin on fire.”

“Oh,” Shion winces. “Well, then I’ll just tie a bandage around it. There’s nothing dangerous about that.”

“With you, nothing is certain.” Nezumi pushes by Shion and heads for the dry shade of the palm trees.

“I’m sorry,” Shion mumbles to his back. “This is my fault.”

Nezumi doesn’t contradict him. It’s not in his nature to comfort, and he’s certainly in no mood to console Shion when this is, in fact, all his fault. In no way, shape, or form have any of the terrible things that have befallen Nezumi in the last two weeks been his own fault.

“Why did you come back for me?” asks Shion, pulling up alongside him. “You were free; you could have escaped.”

Sand crunches between Nezumi’s teeth as he clenches his jaw. “It’s part of our code to repay life debts.”

“There’s a code for that?” Shion frowns. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Why would you have? You’re not a pirate. Every ship has a set of core codes, but their captains usually add their own rules on top of those. On my ship, we have an article that reads, ‘If at any time a man meets with the danger of certain Death and is prevented it by the act of Another, that Man shall discharge the Life Debt to his best means at his earliest convenience to prevent future Encumbrances.’ ”

Shion takes a moment to translate. “So according to your code, you had to save me?”

“If it was within my means, yes. But ironically, it seems saving you has only brought me further encumbrances.” Nezumi sends a death glare back in the direction of their foundering boat. Only the pennant flag is still visible, fluttering above the water like a lady’s handkerchief.

“But you were mutinied, weren’t you? As of right now, you’re not beholden to any of their rules.”

“A pirate doesn’t stop being a pirate once he steps off his ship. That goes double for its captain. The rules still apply.”

Shion’s expression remains neutral, but Nezumi can see in his eyes that he still doesn’t believe he had captained a ship. Nezumi supposes he can’t blame Shion for his doubt.

Inlanders were convinced a man couldn’t lead a band of pirates without having at least thirty years under his belt and a beard to his name. Clean shaven, delicately handsome, and barely looking his twenty years, Nezumi did not fit the stereotype of the degenerate pirate. And in the last two years Nezumi had operated at sea, he had done nothing to correct their assumptions. In fact, he had done all he could to encourage them; sailing under the radar made his work easier.

“I’m just saying,” Shion says. “No one would ever know if you didn’t obey the code. And I was to be hanged, so my death would have wiped your debt clear anyway. You could have done nothing and gotten away with it.”

“I’m sorry, did I get in the way of your death wish?” Nezumi snaps, whirling on him. “Because if you did want to die, I can slit your throat right here. That will certainly discharge my debt.”

Nezumi lays his hands on the twin daggers strapped to his waist and Shion takes a step back.

“Uh… No. Thank you, though.”

Nezumi clicks his tongue and plops down on a felled palm tree. Shion slips down next to him, an arms-length away.

“Thank you,” Shion repeats. “For saving my life. I didn’t get a chance to say it before.”

“Thank whichever of the god’s favor you have.” Nezumi grabs hold of his sodden shirt and yanks it over his head. The fabric sticks to his face, and he has the terrifying sensation of drowning for a second before it comes off.

“Of all the pirates in Sextus,” he continues, slapping his shirt down on the trunk to dry, “you happened to save one who’s honor-bound to repay life debts. That makes you one lucky son of a bitch. Any other pirate would have left you to hang.”

Shion swallows and turns to face the sparkling sea. The sun paints the sky in pastels as it melts into the horizon.

“What do you think we should do?” Shion says. “We didn’t make it that far from Chronos.”

He runs his fingers over the back of his hand, just shy of the rope burn on his wrists. The abrasion around his neck snakes upward toward his hairline at the nape—a testament to how close Shion had come to death.

The boat Shion had nicked from port was a pretty pleasure cruiser and was never meant to brave the high seas. Nezumi could have told him that, and would have steered them toward the gorgeous naval schooner he’d noted on his way in, but Nezumi had been occupied with the officers and their swords. And so the task of picking their getaway ship fell upon Shion, who knew nothing of sailing and only that the boat should be fast and small enough for a two-man crew to operate.

That being said, their little schooner had performed better than Nezumi could have hoped, and the wind had been on their side and against their pursuers’ galleon. Luck, however, had abandoned Nezumi weeks ago. He should have known that their ship was fated to founder and sink sooner rather than later.

They might not be completely doomed yet, though. The dusk is fast approaching night, which is to their advantage.

“I don’t think the officers will continue to search in the dark. We’ll probably be able to spend the night here.” Shion’s shoulders relax at this statement, so Nezumi feels the need to clarify, “But they'll be back on our trail come morning, and I doubt it will take them very long to find this island.”

Shion lets out a loud, heavy sigh.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Nezumi agrees, and swipes his hair back from where it’s begun to adhere to his forehead.

He hasn’t felt this disgusting since the debacle in Ebenfell. Though, after a moment to really think it over, he decides being covered in seawater and sand is better than rummaging through knee-deep pig slop in the pouring rain.

 _Then again_ , Nezumi thinks, _there was a gold elephant statuette to be had at the end of that grueling experience_.

He had been furious that his partner in the heist had thrown the statuette out the manor window and into the pigpen for safekeeping, but he was a lot happier after he had locked his incompetent partner in the grain cellar, pawned the treasure off for a handsome sum, and bought passage out of that gods-forsaken hellhole.

There is no such payoff at the end of this unfortunate situation. Unless whatever favor Shion has garnered with the gods rubs off on him.

Nezumi reaches down to tug off his waterlogged boots, and Shion turns to stare at him.

Shion seems to be fond of staring. The night Nezumi broke into his house, wounded and fed up and ready to do violence to whomsoever stood in his way, Shion had hardly batted an eyelash at the dagger held against his throat. He stared into Nezumi’s eyes long enough to make Nezumi wonder if two weeks on land had made him lose his touch. Then Shion offered to make a fire.

Nezumi hadn’t known what to do with a man so unaffected by threats to his life, so he shrugged and let Shion warm and feed him, with the idea that he would duck out after and rob some other S.O.B. down the road. But then officers knocked on Shion’s door, and Nezumi knew he would have to fight his way out, and probably kill Shion to tie up loose ends.

Except that Shion happily chatted up the two men, told them he hadn’t seen any pirates come this way but he’d be sure to keep a lookout, and the officers left without a drop of blood spilled.

After that, Nezumi sat dumbly and let Shion tend to his shoulder and stare at him to his heart’s content, because he wasn’t fool enough to stab a gift horse in the throat.

Now, though, he could afford to be a bit testy.

“Are you going to nurse me back to health or not? I didn’t pull my shirt off for your admiration alone.”

Shion flushes. He looks about to say something, but then he closes his mouth and inspects Nezumi’s shoulder instead. It’s not bleeding terribly, but it continues to dribble down his arm, leaving rusty trails now that his skin is beginning to dry in the mild weather.

Shion frowns at the tattered edges of his sutures. He looks put out that they failed to hold under a few rounds of life-or-death swashbuckling—as if it’s a failure on his part for not being skilled enough to sew Nezumi’s skin up against further damage.

Shion huffs and raises his gaze to Nezumi’s. In the fading light, his irises have an edge of purple to them that reminds Nezumi of a stormy sea. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

“We need to build a fire.”

Nezumi clucks his tongue, but Shion shakes his head and keeps talking. “I can’t do anything but bandage your shoulder as is, but the only cloth I have is our clothes, and those are wet. I could try using leaves,” Shion glances at the fallen palm fronds, “but I’d still need to heat them to make them more pliable. Either way, we need a fire.”

“Nevermind,” Nezumi mutters. “I’ll just bleed out. It’s a more peaceful death than hanging anyway.”

“Don’t be dramatic. The officers will come for us either way, so let’s at least be in fighting form when they do come.”

“And by ‘us,’ ” Nezumi says drily, “you mean me.”

“Yes, of course. Do I look like I know how to fight?”

Nezumi absorbs Shion’s whip quick response delivered in his matter-of-fact tone, and his first thought is: _Yes._

Yes, he certainly does know how to fight.

Nezumi laughs. Shion seems surprised, and stares at Nezumi extra hard because of it—which makes him laugh more.

“Alright,” Nezumi relents, “you can have a _small_ fire.”

***

After they had set their clothes out in front of the fire to dry, Shion had torn the sleeves off his shirt to use as bandages.

Nezumi watches Shion’s hands as they loop the cloth up under his armpit and over his shoulder, winding their slow, meticulous way around to his upper arm. There’s a meditation in his gentle tugs to ensure the fabric is snug, but not constricting, in the way he tilts his head to and fro to follow the track of the bandages.

It had been the same when Shion threaded the stitches through Nezumi’s skin the day before. Shion chatters and probes nonstop until he has his hands full and a body to mend. Then, he is completely silent. Once he begins, his focus is unwavering, his hands unerring, the only signs of strain the sweat prickling at his hairline.

Wrapping cloth bandages is less taxing work than sewing up a wound, however, so tonight Shion’s brow is dry; although there is a faint patina of salt coating it. Nezumi’s gaze travels over Shion’s face, taking in the way the firelight flickers in his dark eyes and warms his hair. The strands have begun to curl a little over his forehead.

It’s strange that Shion is so skilled at doctoring when he looks soft enough to swoon at the mere mention of blood. Nezumi can’t figure out if Shion is unfazed by violence because his lifestyle has bred his sense of danger out of him, or if he’s just cavalier by nature.

“Have you studied medicine?”

Shion pauses in his wrapping and blinks slowly at him, as if he’s just slipped from a reverie. When the question finally registers, he frowns, perplexed.

Nezumi keeps his eyes trained on Shion, his face the perfect picture of indifference, but his mind is abuzz. He hadn’t known he was going to ask Shion anything until the words had already slipped into the air between them. Nezumi had never been fond of idle conversation, so why was he starting one now? Perhaps it is because he’s exhausted and trapped. Perhaps it’s because he knows there’s a high chance that they’ll both be dead come morning, so there’s no harm in being human for the few hours he has left.

But it feels like more than that. There is something in the cool quiet of a deserted island that begs for sound.

Shion fiddles with the edge of the cloth wrapping. “I haven’t,” he says to Nezumi’s question. “I considered it, but we couldn’t afford the schooling.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, so either he was never too taken with the idea, or the dream is long enough dead that it no longer hurts to think of it.

“I help my mom run a bread and sweet shop instead. But I’ve always liked working with my hands.” A smile flits over Shion’s face, quick and sudden as sparking flint. He takes up the bandages again and makes quick work of the remaining length, tying it off at Nezumi’s bicep in a tight, neat knot.

“I really enjoyed learning how to sail a ship, too.” Shion glances out at the ocean, as if he might still be able to see the remains of their schooner. But it’s long gone. “Even though it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

“That thing was hardly a ship,” Nezumi scoffs. “You should have seen mine.”

Nezumi wonders whether his crew is doing right by _Ophelia_. Their decision to vote him out had been a tough blow, but the betrayal cut so much deeper when he had to watch _Ophelia_ disappear over the horizon without him. He and that galleon had spent their young years together. She was not just his ship, but his soul, the concept of freedom made solid and sailable. She meant more to Nezumi than his entire crew put together—and they knew that all too well.

Nezumi scowls at the fire, remembering their smug expressions and jeers as they waved at him from his ship’s deck. Only a few of his crew had not looked pleased by the upheaval, but none of them had been foolish enough to stand in the way of the majority. His best hope would have been his quartermaster, Inukashi, who, while not being fond of Nezumi, exactly, at least respected him and his ability to find wealthy targets and ensure good pay.

But Inukashi held the second highest position on the ship, and their sense of self-preservation was stronger than even Nezumi’s, so he wasn’t surprised when they stuck to the shadows and said nothing against his banishment.

If he makes it off this island somehow, his first order of business is to find and gut every mutinous member and hang their corpses from _Ophelia’s_ rigging. Nezumi picks up a palm leaf and casts it into the fire, letting the dry crackle of its devourment feed his vengeful musings.

“My mom used to read me stories about pirates,” Shion says. The words are soft and warm, a blanket wrapped tightly around a fond memory. “They were all wild fiction—you’d laugh if you heard them—but I couldn’t get enough of how they battled sea serpents and struggled in the clutches of mermaids and sirens. I spent years telling people I wanted to be a pirate when I grew up.”

“I bet that went over well.”

“Oh, yes,” says Shion. “If ever you want to become a social outcast, tell all the merchants in your coastal town that you wish to be a pirate.”

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth quirks up. Shion catches it and smiles, a warm flush of pride lighting his face. Nezumi’s chest tightens and he has to look away.

 _Great_ , Nezumi groans internally. Now isn’t the time to find Shion attractive, but considering that up until now Nezumi’s greatest high had been life or death situations, he can’t blame his body for its confusion.

Shion is certainly his type: cute, brunet, a little naive. Nezumi had acknowledged this the night he first met Shion, when he couldn’t stop staring at Shion’s eyelashes while he worked on his stitches. But Nezumi knew how to separate work and play, and he wouldn’t let himself get distracted. Survival was all that mattered then.

Survival is all that matters now.

Shion sighs, and Nezumi’s stomach clenches at his new, miserable expression. He wishes he had savored Shion’s smile longer if this is what ignoring it has done.

“I would like to try sailing again,” Shion says. He rubs his hands over his bare arms and shifts closer to the fire, but the look on his face says he doesn’t expect to ever feel warm again. “There are so many things I would have liked to try….”

“Hey,” Nezumi barks. “Quit eulogizing. We’re not dead yet.”

“Our chances are bad, though. You said as much. And I already escaped death once.” Shion touches the burn snaking up his neck and his forehead pinches at the memory of the noose. “I doubt the gods love me enough to allow it a second time.”

Nezumi swallows. He couldn’t guess at the will of the gods. They’re capricious by nature, and he’s never felt their favor. But he couldn’t believe they’d abandon Shion. He had shown compassion to a stranger in need, he had proved loyal under duress, and he had even been willing to take the punishment passed down by his ludicrous government. Such nobility should be rewarded—if not by Mao for his courage, then surely by the goddess Elyurias, who presides over all that is just.

“Nezumi?” Shion’s expression has changed once again. It’s more contemplative, almost shy. He shifts his body so that he’s facing Nezumi directly. “Can I kiss you?”

Nezumi straightens in shock. The back of his neck grows hot, and he manages to force a tight, “Why?” out before his tongue fails him entirely.

“If I have to die tomorrow, I’d like it to be with no regrets.” Shion’s dark eyes bore into his. “I would regret it if I didn’t kiss you. I _did_ regret it this morning when I stood under the gallows.”

Desire pools in Nezumi’s lower stomach. Shion is so close and so still, waiting for his answer. All Nezumi would need to do is nod, or better yet, close the distance between their lips. It feels like a waste not to, if they both want it, and it might be their only chance. It would be so easy to pretend there was nothing beyond this moment, to fritter away his remaining hours in the warm comfort of Shion’s embrace….

Nezumi shoots to his feet. “We are not going to die,” he snaps. Shion blinks up at him, startled and unsure, and the rage tingling in Nezumi’s limbs grows unbearable.

He kicks sand over their fire, and it sputters and dies. Shion yelps, but Nezumi ignores his wounded questions and stomps barefoot into the cold silence of the palms.

***

Shion and Nezumi stand on the beach, side by side once again, and watch the rowboat slink closer. The navy galleon had been perched on the horizon when they had awoken, and after two hours of silent vigil as it closed in, the ship dropped anchor and its rowboat deployed.

Nezumi judges they have about half an hour before the action begins.

“When they land, hang back by the trees,” he says to Shion without turning.

Shion glances at him, and even though Nezumi can see him only in his periphery, he feels Shion’s worry seeping like cold into his skin.

“That’s a lot of men to take by yourself,” Shion says quietly.

Nezumi’s eyes sweep over the rowboat’s passengers. Four men in total, all equipped with cutlasses for certain, though he doubts they have pistols. The Sextus navy has issues with outfitting its officers uniformly. All receive personal swords for combat, but so far, Nezumi has only seen pistols issued to the higher-ranking officers. In a few years, he has no doubt that all will carry personal pistols as well as swords, but for now, he is safe.

Shion sidles closer as the rowboat continues its slow, torturous trek toward the shore. “Can you shoot them before they get here?”

Nezumi smirks, but there’s no mirth in it. “Didn’t you say you were a pirate fanatic? I’ve only got one shot.”

“Right,” Shion sighs, “I forgot.”

Those marooned are only given a bit of food, a container of water, and pistol with a single shot, in case they decide life without their ship isn’t worth living. Nezumi doesn’t know who he will use his shot on, but he has no doubt he’ll make it worth it.

Nezumi unsheathes his daggers, enjoying their weight in his hands. He had picked up the handsome pair in Chronos after his marooning. The sword is the smartest weapon in a fight, given its reach, but Nezumi has always preferred the intimacy of knives.

They are the femme fatales of weapons: coy, seductive in their seeming innocence, and deadly when underestimated. Daggers are no match against a sword in extended combat, or against a seasoned opponent, but if one acts swiftly, a well-placed dagger can end the fight before it’s even begun.

“Get back to the trees,” Nezumi repeats.

Shion hesitates, but they both know he’ll be nothing but a liability in the upcoming fight. “They have swords. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Chances are the officers will think just like you: that I’m an easy target with the short reach these daggers will afford me. By the time they realize their mistake,” Nezumi says, turning to Shion with a vicious smile, “they’ll be dead.”

Shion blinks at him, wide-eyed. This is the first time Nezumi’s seen Shion unnerved, but this is also the first time since the loss of his ship and status that Nezumi has felt the electric zing that precedes a good fight. The escape from the gallows and Chronos’ docks had been slapdash and harried. This, though, is a good old-fashioned wit-to-wit, steel-to-steel duel.

All Nezumi’s pent-up rage, his desire for blood, and his need to prove that he still has control over something in his life have coalesced into this moment. His opponents are going to wish they’d never set foot on this island.

The officers reach the shallowest parts of the shore, and one of the men jumps out to guide the rowboat to the beach. Shion worries his lip, his gaze flitting from Nezumi to their would-be executioners. His body sings with tension, and Nezumi half expects him to give a final confession or beg to stay by his side, but in the end, Shion drags in a trembling breath and runs for the safety of the palms.

Nezumi feels lighter when he’s gone, and when he faces the officers, the pieces of his old self slip silkily into place.

His gaze drags down each of the officers, assessing their threat level. They are all young—probably recently conscripted—and the grim determination on their faces tells Nezumi they are dying to prove themselves.

He would help them with the dying part.

“I don’t suppose one of you would be willing to lend me a sword and make this a fair fight?” Nezumi asks with an easy smile.

The officers’ faces twist in pleasure when they see his daggers, and one steps to the forefront. He is older than the other three, sandy-haired and mustached. His breeches are wet from when he jumped into the ocean to drag their boat ashore.

“By the order of the Queen, I demand you turn yourself in, pirate,” the officer spits. “You and the traitor are sentenced to hang for your crimes against the crown.”

“Right,” Nezumi says. “Thank you for your due diligence, but if I’m to die, I prefer it to be by the sword.” He raises his twin daggers up, one to eye level and the other directly in front of his chest. “So, please, whenever you’re ready.”

The officer tenses. He grabs the hilt of his cutlass and pulls it free with the bright hiss of steel. Nezumi’s heart thrums at the sound. He and the man circle each other, and Nezumi waits for the officer’s opening move.

The man is young, indeed. He relies entirely on his reach and doesn’t even bother to step into the move as he swings his sword at Nezumi’s midsection. A curl of pleasure twists in Nezumi’s stomach as he steps into the strike, blocking the sword near the base of the blade with one dagger, and burying the other to the hilt in the officer’s exposed throat.

Blood spatters Nezumi’s cheek as he rips the dagger free. The officer gurgles as his knees give out and he sinks to the sand. Nezumi catches his dominant hand mid-slump and drops his clean dagger in favor of the sword.

He sheathes his bloodied dagger and grins at the terrified faces of the remaining officers, raising his new sword with a smile. “Next?” Nezumi prompts, and a new challenger steps forward.

He can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen; there are still traces of baby fat in his cheeks and chin. Nezumi pities the fact that someone so young will die at his hand, but at least the boy is less foolhardy than his predecessor.

He and Nezumi trade blows back and forth as they circle, getting a feel for the other’s style and probing for its weaknesses. The boy’s thrusts are a bit heavy footed, Nezumi decides. He adjusts to a two-hand grip and swings hard to meet the officer’s next attempt at spearing his chest. The boy gasps and staggers sideways, leaving his front exposed. His fellows shout in warning, but it’s too late.

Nezumi twists his arms, drags his sword up the length of the officer’s blade, and slices the boy’s throat wide open.

A thunderous _boom_ shakes the air, and Nezumi stumbles. For a moment, he thinks someone has fired a pistol, but then he realizes the sound is too deep for that.

_Cannon fire._

Nezumi whirls to face the beach. The navy galleon rests on the ocean as before, but it is in chaos. Faint shouts rise from its deck, and the specks of its occupants rush to and fro. Nezumi hears the officers across from him curse viciously, and a moment later, he realizes why: Their ship’s foremast has been blasted to bits.

Another sonorous boom and the navy’s galleon rocks with the impact. Nezumi’s heart pounds. _That sound_. _I know those cannons._ He can hardly breathe as the assailing ship glides out from behind the navy’s, her dark hull shining and sails gloriously spread.

 _Ophelia_.

He cannot believe it, but it’s her, without a doubt. What is she doing in these waters? And why is her crew attacking a naval ship? There is no bounty to be had from them, only danger.

The navy galleon returns fire and clips _Ophelia’s_ bowspirit. Nezumi clenches his jaw. If he has to watch his mutinous crew destroy his ship on a worthless suicide mission, he swears there will be hell to pay.

“Nezumi!”

At Shion’s shout, Nezumi jolts to attention. The two young officers lay reddening the sand at his feet, and the remaining two have decided to get smart and charge him as one.

Nezumi side-steps the first attack and blocks the second officer’s. The man has taken some pointers from Nezumi’s previous match, and uses a two-handed grip. The bones in Nezumi’s arm vibrate with the force of the impact. He pushes off the officer’s sword and backpedals across the sand, gaining a moment of recovery and strategizing time.

 _Okay,_ Nezumi thinks, eyeing the two men. He would be hard-pressed to fight them with just the sword, so he pulls his bloodied dagger free and assumes the position. He is less practiced at sword-and-dagger, but he’s betting on his experience and ruthlessness to win the day despite this.

The officers lunge at him again. Nezumi is able to block and parry their thrusts, but he loses ground in the process. He can feel them corralling him towards the beach. The damp sand sucks at his boots, and fear starts to creep up the back of Nezumi’s throat. It tastes like iron and salt.

Nezumi bats a sword away and sees an opening on one of the men. The other lurks in his periphery, still very much a threat, but Nezumi takes the chance. His dagger slides into the officer’s belly, and Nezumi pushes upward, fighting the resistance of bone and muscle until the blade punctures the man’s heart. The dying man wheezes, and a battle cry rises behind Nezumi.

He scrambles to pull the dagger back out, but it’s sunk too deep. He lets it go and twists to block. Steel jars against steel, and Nezumi’s sword goes flying.

A hiss of pain pushes past his teeth as the officer’s sword, redirected from the blow, misses his chest and grazes his bicep instead. Hot blood races down to Nezumi’s elbow, but he ignores the sting and grabs for the man’s sword hilt—not a second too soon. His arm muscles strain as the officer pushes back against his grip, trying to force his blade up into Nezumi’s neck.

Water splashes at their ankles as his and the man’s struggle takes them within the ocean’s reach. The cannons continue to fire over the water. A man screams, followed by a distant splash.

Nezumi’s arms ache, and he knows he won’t be able to hold out much longer. He needs to kick the man’s shins, or get closer so he can bite or headbutt. He needs—

 _Shion_.

Terror electrifies Nezumi’s veins when he spots Shion racing towards them. The terror turns to horror when he realizes Shion has his other dagger in his hand. Nezumi has only a few seconds to decide what to do—call out and risk endangering him, or say nothing and let Shion become a murderer.

He chooses the third option.

Nezumi drops a hand to his waist and cocks his pistol. Fear flashes in the officer’s eyes in the second before the bullet bursts from the barrel and lodges in his gut. The man abandons the hilt of his sword and grabs at his stomach instead. Nezumi takes advantage of his distraction and runs him through.

Shion freezes a few steps away and stares at the body bleeding into the surf. The dagger hangs limply at his side.

“You only had one shot,” he whispers. Shion’s face is pale despite the warmth of the early morning sun.

Nezumi trudges out of the water and twists the dagger out of Shion’s weak grip. “You were supposed to stay out of the way.”

“You were in trouble.”

“I was fine. I had it under control.”

“You did _not_! He had you cornered, and you’re bleeding— _again_!” Shion’s jabs a finger at Nezumi’s bloodied arm and his face crumples. “And it’s the shoulder I just bandaged...”

His voice wobbles, and Nezumi’s anger and bloodlust abandon him when he sees the tears brimming in Shion’s eyes.

“You can’t expect me to hang back and watch you get hurt,” Shion says. “Not when this is my fault.”

Nezumi exhales through his nose and slots his dagger back into place. “It’s not your fault,” he mutters as he casts the empty pistol aside and heads over to yank the other dagger from the corpse higher up on the beach.

Shion follows close behind. “I won’t let you die for me, Nezumi.”

“I don’t want to die for you,” he says, facing Shion again. “I don’t plan to die at all, if I can help it. Now let’s figure out how to get off this island, so you can bandage me up again, hm? Maybe you’ll even get to stab me with a needle; that seemed to put a smile on your face last time.”

Shion scowls, but Nezumi ignores him and checks _Ophelia’s_ progress. The navy ship is on fire, the masts are shattered, and they have stopped firing their cannons. _Ophelia_ appears to have lost interest in their hobbled hull; she’s now gliding to the northern side of the island.

And there is another rowboat in the water, making its way rapidly to shore.

Shion catches sight of it and moves in close to Nezumi, almost pressing against his side. “What do you think? Friend or foe?”

“Difficult to say,” Nezumi drawls. He narrows his eyes at the passengers of the incoming rowboat. There are just two, and he knows both of the men well.

“Come on,” Nezumi mutters to Shion, and sets off toward where the rowboat is directed to land.

Nezumi and the men stare each other down across the hissing surf. It’s been awhile since he’s laid eyes on Conk, but he seems even more massive than he remembers. No wonder only he and the cabin boy Yamase could fit in the small boat.

“Ey, Cap’n,” Conk calls. He offers a tentative smile, which melts into a look of shame when Nezumi returns, “Hey, traitor.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Nezumi,” he mumbles. “You know I couldn’t have gone against the rest of the crew then. We had to bide our time, strategize.”

Shion perks up beside him. “Nezumi, are these men part of your crew?” His eyes go wide as they settle on _Ophelia_ floating placidly on the water. “Is that your _ship_?”

“What are you doing here?” Nezumi snaps at the men.

“Inukashi sent us,” Yamase answers in his mellow baritone. He is from a merchant family originally, and his tone always sounds warmly diplomatic. “They want you to come back. Your friend is welcome, too.”

Shion peeks out from behind Nezumi’s shoulder. Yamase’s mouth curls into a faint smile, and after a moment of trading hard looks between the diminutive man and the monstrous Conk, Shion returns the smile.

“You came back for Nezumi?”

Conk and Yamase brighten and open their mouths to speak, but Nezumi cuts them off. “Inukashi wants me back, huh? In what capacity?”

Yamase blinks at him in surprise. “As captain.”

“Last I checked, the crew voted me out of that position.”

Conk’s expression darkens. “That was all Yoming’s doing. He poisoned the crew against you, saying he could pick better marks, get us bigger hauls. But when we docked in Maren’s Cape, Inukashi set him right. Sent him and his kind packing with their tails between their legs. You shoulda seen it.”

Yamase chimes in, “We’ve got a new crew now; it’s just me, Conk, and Inukashi from the old one. And _Ophelia_ , of course.

“But we want you back as captain. No one commands a battle like you...” Yamase finishes shyly, glancing from Nezumi’s bloodied face and arm to the bodies littering the beach.

Shion turns to Nezumi, face alight with pleasure, but Nezumi’s not so quick to trust those who have betrayed him before.

Still, he’s interested in what Inukashi has to say, and it’s not like he has any other way off this island. He commands Conk to move aside and steps into the rowboat, setting himself up as a barrier between his old crew and Shion.

With Conk’s powerful rowing, they make it back to _Ophelia_ in no time. Nezumi’s stomach swoops at the sight of her so close. He lays a hand on her hull and it warms his palm like the touch of an old friend.

There’s no comfortable order for climbing the rope up onto the deck, but Nezumi makes Conk and Yamase go first, and has Shion go up in front of him, in case he needs assistance. Nezumi’s cut arm aches and bleeds afresh as he pulls himself up, but he is careful not to show any weakness.

Inukashi is waiting for them, tanned arms crossed over their chest and hair wilder than a storm-tossed sea. They spare a glance for Shion as he wobbles onto the deck like a newborn foal, but then their attention is all for Nezumi.

Inukashi’s dark eyes flash over him. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit, too. Is that why you want me to captain your shitty crew?”

Conk murmurs his injury, but no one pays him any mind.

“Could say that,” Inukashi answers after a moment of consideration. “You get used to a certain manner of living.”

Nezumi sniffs and says, “You kept _Ophelia_.”

“She’s a good ship. And gods know I’ve done more to take care of her than you have over the years. You just sit on deck and drool at her varnish— _I’m_ the one that has to mop the mess up.”

Nezumi’s mouth twitches into a droll smile. “That’s what quartermasters are meant to do.”

“Yeah, that and every other fucking thing on this ship, except sit pretty and be an asshole; that’s _your_ job. So do you want to be captain again or not?”

Nezumi takes a look around the ship. She’s much the same as he’d left her. But that’s no wonder, because Inukashi _has_ been her primary caretaker. Quartermasters are the real ship runners, while as captain, Nezumi’s only job was to ensure they bested the ships they attacked.

The crew, as Yamase and Conk had said, is entirely new. They watch him as they mill about on deck, but there is no malice or greed reflected there, only curiosity. Those left from his previous term as captain are the persons he trusted most, and they _had_ come back for him. Whether he could trust them again remains to be seen.

Nezumi meets Inukashi’s small, sharp eyes. “If you cross me, I will kill you. I’m not going to suffer another mutiny.”

Inukashi doesn’t immediately reply, so he knows they understand each other.

Nezumi lifts his chin and says imperiously, “I’m sailing _Ophelia_ from now on.”

“Welcome back,” Inukashi says with a roll of their eyes. “Let’s get this ship moving,” they call to the crew.

The men scramble to their positions. Shion takes a step closer to Nezumi and brushes a hand against his shirt cuff, clearly overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the pirate ship.

“How did you find me anyway?” Nezumi asks.

Inukashi shrugs a shoulder and huffs. “I didn’t find you so much as stumble onto you. It was an accident.”

“But we were looking for you,” Conk interjects. “We were sailing back to Chronos to find you.”

Nezumi arches an eyebrow at Inukashi. “How romantic. I didn’t know I meant so much to you.”

“Shut it, you prat. There was no effort in it at all. I just happened to be coming to Chronos, spotted that navy ship, and got curious what all the fuss was about. I had no idea you’d be having a four-way duel with the brinies.” They bark out a cynical laugh. “You’d’ve been dead if we didn’t come along and save your sorry ass when we did.”

Inukashi shakes their head. “You’re one lucky son of a gun. The gods must love you.”

It takes a moment for the accusation to sink in, but when it does, Nezumi laughs. It comes from the deepest part of him, shaking him body and soul. Every peal brings a fresh wave of wild disbelief. He’s alive, he has his ship back, the wind is strong, and they’re traveling at fourteen knots to freedom.

Inukashi stares at him like they regret bringing him back on board, but Nezumi has zero regrets.

_Well. Soon to be zero._

Nezumi grabs Shion and kisses him full on the mouth.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he chuckles at Shion’s startled face. Flushed surprise is a cute look on him, so Nezumi gives Shion another quick peck before striding across the deck toward the helm, paying no mind to his shocked and confused crew.

Nezumi takes hold of the wheel. He feels the soft grain of the wood beneath his palms, the rumble of the ocean beneath his feet, and his heart sings with them in perfect harmony.

“Shion!” he calls down to the deck. “You want to be a pirate?”

Shion lights up, practically jumping as he shouts, “Aye-aye, Captain!”

Nezumi winces. “Don’t say that.”

“Oh. You don’t… say that…?” Shion looks around at the crew, and they all either give him a dry look or a bemused smile.

“No,” Inukashi replies blandly. “At sea, we call him Nezumi. On land, we call him drunk.”

“Oh, er…” Shion rubs a hand against the side of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Just get up here,” Nezumi huffs. Shion steps onto the upper deck and stares at the helm with wonder.

“Now,” Nezumi purrs, cutting him a sharp smile, “I’ll teach you how to sail a _real_ ship.”


End file.
